


no bad thing

by amandamonroe



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandamonroe/pseuds/amandamonroe
Summary: For a psychopath, Monroe sure did have a nice mouth.Of all the observations she could- and probably should- be making in this situation, that really shouldn't be the one that was at the forefront of her mind. But, if her foray into the world of amateur assassination attempts had taught Charlie one thing, it was that she didn't always make the best of choices.Although, right now? Letting a man twice her age put his head between her legs was proving to be one of the better ones she'd made this week.
Relationships: Charlie Matheson/Bass Monroe
Comments: 14
Kudos: 53





	no bad thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nyxierose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/gifts).



> This was inspired by an ask from @electricbluebutterflies on tumblr. It's been YEARS since I've written for these two and I am THRILLED to be getting back to my roots.
> 
> This was supposed to be longer, more introspective, and smuttier. It's post 2.04. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of any recognizable content. I do not make any money from this. This is purely for fun.

For a psychopath, Monroe sure did have a nice mouth.

Of all the observations she could- and probably _should_ \- be making in this situation, that really shouldn't be the one that was at the forefront of her mind. But, if her foray into the world of amateur assassination attempts had taught Charlie one thing, it was that she didn't always make the _best_ of choices.

Although, right now? Letting a man twice her age put his head between her legs was proving to be one of the better ones she'd made this week.

* * *

Charlie didn't think it was possible, but the events of last night seemed even worse in the cold light of day.

After her confrontation with Monroe next to the fire, she'd stumbled back and collapsed to the ground and let the world spin on without her for a bit. Distantly, she knew that Monroe was watching her but she couldn't bring herself to care anymore. Their little argument had taken more out of her than Charlie cared to admit. Her body felt like it had been through the wringer the past few days. She supposed it really had.

Shot and falling into the deep end of an empty swimming pool? Check.

Engaging in hand-to-hand combat with a former Marine turned General turned bare-fisted boxer? Yep.

Drugged and almost gang-raped? For fuck's sake. 

Charlie figured it wouldn't be the _worst_ thing in the world to drink some more of the water that Monroe had offered her and go back to sleep. This time, she wasn't confused and scared when she woke up. Instead, she just felt nauseous and more than a little bit annoyed. 

Monroe was over at the wagon, going through supplies and weapons. Despite his back being to her, Charlie knew that he was aware of her return to consciousness by the way he shifted his weight. The man was a bastard, but he was smart. 

Charlie rolled to her feet and shakily made her way around the far side of a rusted-out car to relieve herself. It may not be "polite", but she didn't trust her legs to hold up for the distance it would take to make it to a tree. When she finished, she slowly walked back to the makeshift campsite to see another jug of water and a hunk of bread waiting next to the spot where she had slept.

"Eat, if you can keep it down. It'll help absorb the rest of the shit in your stomach." Monroe's instructions were casual, but firm.

"And how do _you_ know so much about how to flush drugs out of the body?" Charlie couldn't help but snap at him, even as she sat down to rip into the bread. She kept an eye on him as she ate, making note of the clench of his jaw at her words.

"It's either this or go make yourself hurl," he said and turned back to the wagon. Huh. She'd expected her goading to get more of a reaction than that.

* * *

When his lips broke away from hers, Charlie expected him to go for her the button of her jeans. Instead, he mouthed kisses down her throat and onto the fragile stretch of skin over her collarbone, his hands braced on either side of her head against a tree. He licked the sweat from her sternum and bent lower, nose nudging against the edge of her tank. 

She grabbed a handful of Monroe's hair- god, that _hair_ \- and forcibly pulled his mouth back to hers with a growl. He kissed her with a softness, a _familiarity_ that should be reserved for long-time lovers, not a round of hate sex in the middle of the woods. Charlie made sure to punish him for his attempt, teeth digging into the cut she knew was on his bottom lip 

Charlie felt _powerful_ when his hips slammed her back into the tree in reaction to the pain from her teeth. Should've figured that pain was what turned him on. She wouldn't have thought it to be his own, but decided not to question it when the heavy line of his erection was grinding the seam of her jeans in her clit just right. 

Deciding to test the limits, Charlie scored her nails down the back of his neck and smiled into his mouth when he grabbed her thigh. Her smile fell into a moan against his mouth when he shoved her thigh open to press himself closer. That felt _good._

"Back, back up," she gasped and almost stumbled as he quickly complied, hands spread at his sides. Charlie didn't give him a chance to voice the questions that she saw forming in his eyes before she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him towards the wagon bed.

* * *

There's nothing like hanging out of a moving wagon to vomit in front of someone you hate to put things into perspective. 

When Charlie straightened up and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand with a scowl of disgust, Monroe wordlessly held a flask out to her. She was pathetically grateful for his silence as she took a sip of the whiskey to clear her mouth of the foul taste. He just waited for her to nod that she was okay before snapping the reins and sending the horses down the road again.

After another mile of silence, Charlie had just about had it. "You can say it, you know?"

"Say what." Monroe's voice cracked from disuse.

"You told me so. I'm sure you're just dying to say it. So go ahead." She bit her tongue before her bitter embarrassment caused her to say something worse. 

"I'm not gonna do that," he said and kept his eyes on the road ahead.

Charlie scoffed, but let it be. She wasn't sure how she felt about that fact that he hadn't once looked at her with pity. Maybe a bit of concern, but not pity. There was a fine line there, and Charlie knew it well. It was the look that people gave her in the village: "Poor Charlie, her mother's dead. Poor Charlie, her brother's sick." The pity felt so _mocking_. But his faint concern left her with her dignity intact. 

She wondered if he would have saved her if she had been someone, anyone else besides his best friend's niece, and therefore useful to him. 

* * *

Charlie was glad that it was only early evening as she backed herself up to sit on the lowered tailgate of the wagon. The soft light meant that she could see his wide-eyed gaze but the sun wasn't so harsh that it burned at the skin of her chest as she peeled her shirt off. She didn't give him a chance to take his own off before reaching out with her legs and drawing him into the cradle of her thighs.

Perched as she was on the edge of the wagon, she was at the perfect level to reach up and nip at his throat. When she did, Monroe's hands clutched her bare back so tight she was sure she would have bruises. His palms were callused and rough from guns and swords, his fingers still slightly swollen from his fight, his nails almost torn off in spots from his escape at the pool. 

They were the hands of a killer. But damn, did they feel good as he made short work of her bra and cupped her bare breasts. Charlie fought the wave of pleasure his fingers plucking at her nipples brought and reached for his belt. This time, he was the one who pulled away as much as he could with her boots digging into his ass.

"Damn you, _come on_ ," Charlie hissed at him. Were they going to fuck or not? Because she was about thirty seconds from shoving a hand down her pants and finishing the job herself. 

"Fuck, you're impatient," Monroe rasped back at her. He gripped her hips and _yanked_ until she was balanced on the very edge of the wagon. Charlie almost fell backwards with the momentum, but caught herself on her elbows just in time. The change in position loosened her legs around his waist.

That's when he sank down to his knees in front of her.

* * *

They'd been traveling together- as in, traveling in the same wagon, not one just following the other- for a day and Charlie was already close to her breaking point. Not that she would ever, _ever_ admit it, but Monroe's company wasn't _as_ bad as she thought it would be. Once she overcame the last of the drugs in her system and didn't feel like she was going to throw up more, he started talking to her.

At first, it was questions about where Miles was, which Charlie found ridiculously predictable. She made it explicitly clear that she wasn't giving him a firm location until they were much closer, but did tell him that it would take them several weeks to get there. His muttered "fucking hell, Miles" almost made her laugh. Almost. 

After that, he just started talking. He mostly told stories about things pre-Blackout, nothing to do with her family, thankfully. He told her plots of movies he'd seen, what high school was like, countries he had travelled to when he was a Marine. So, it wasn't boredom that was making Charlie squirm in her seat. It wasn't the company either. 

Well... not exactly.

The thing was, as much as she hated him, Monroe had a _presence_ that was undeniable. She'd noticed it in Philly and in New Vegas. And it was bad enough that he was handsome, but she had to listen to him _talk_ , on top of it? 

He spoke fairly softly, the words ebbing and flowing but always with an undercurrent of roughness that kept her attention. As much as she tried to let his voice, _him_ , fade into the background, once she was aware of it, she couldn't _not_ pay attention to him. 

By the time they had pulled the wagon over for the night and unhitched the horses, Charlie had had just about enough. They had _weeks_ of traveling to go, she'd had a near-death experience (again), and she was so fucking wet she'd soaked through her jeans. She made her move after Monroe flipped the tailgate of the wagon out and brought his pack over to the area they would sleep. As he stood up, she grabbed his shoulder with one hand, his jaw with the other and slammed her mouth to his.

* * *

Charlie was no virgin, and she had heard the stories from the other girls in her village. 

It was still a surprise to her when Monroe knelt between her spread legs, deftly unbuckled her belt, and peeled her jeans off. She thought she caught sight of a wicked grin on his face when he saw that she wasn't wearing panties, but then he leaned forward and _licked_ her. Charlie shoved her hand across her mouth to muffle the sounds that leapt to her tongue and braced her heels on the wagon's edge as he circled her clit with his tongue. 

When he used his fingers to spread her folds wide open, she had the distant idea that she shouldn't be letting him do this. Hell, she never should have kissed him at all. But _fuck_ it felt good. 

Charlie decided to focus less on the morality of the situation and more on the pleasure of it. Who knew that the President of the Monroe Republic was so generous in bed? Well, wagon really.

Her head thrashed as Monroe ate her out and Charlie fought harder not to make too much noise. With the way things were going, more bounty hunters would be drawn in by the sound of her gasps of pleasure. Wouldn't _that_ be embarrassing. Somehow, she wound up with one hand in his curls, thrusting against his face as she pressed the other hand to her cheek. As she panted, her lips brushed the brand on her wrist. 

His brand. 

_Fuck_. She shamelessly ground against his face as she came, muffling any noises she made into her arm. Charlie would be damned if he heard her say his name in pleasure. 

Later, she would find that he'd simply taken himself in hand and came in the dirt while his face was pressed to her cunt. For now, she lay back in the wagon and stared up at the sky as Monroe rested his forehead against the inside of her thigh.

Despite everything, she couldn't bring herself to regret it. No bad thing should feel this good. 


End file.
